Origins of Hydrangeas
by Lucky Black Moon
Summary: Harry fled England after the war to find himself. He travelled to many lands, but none struck him as much as the Land of the Rising Sun did. However, does something darker lurks behind the rose-coloured glasses he forced on himself, or is it just the letfover paranoia from his past battles?
1. Chapter 1 - Settling Down

**There's no real warning for this new work. Canon-typical violence is expected, and I still remain an LGBTQ writer, so there's a large chance of me incorporating representation (from my own experience), but heh! Nowadays kids are learning, right?**

 **Flower Shop AU**

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Chapter One - Settling Down

Harry hummed a popular pop song under his breath. He really hated it, but it was catchy and the rhythms had easily engrained themselves inside his head. The flower shop was not very busy, allowing him some time to breathe, although he would have to check in the back soon if they had enough of amaryllises and sunflowers.

It was surprising; Hermione and Ron had expected him to choose a less… flowery job, but Harry had enough of living through horrific experiences every year at the hands of some egomaniac psychopath who would try to skin his skinny ass. He fled England after the war, trying to lose whatever made him the Boy-Who-Lived, so he got rid of his very distinctive round spectacles, replaced them with contact lenses which were his actual prescription, and allowed his hair to grow out. It was more or less tameable nowadays, if he tied it back, which was almost constantly. He let it out free only when he had a headache or if he was back at home. He also discovered that coconut oil was a great way to actually manage it, and it had the side advantage of making his hair gain a glossy and healthy shine.

Eventually, he settled in the peaceful land of the rising sun, hoping to replenish his energy and finally unwind. He had travelled through many countries first before deciding on his last stop. Italy and France were obnoxiously close to his homeland - Harry scratched them off his list very early. Germany was quite pleasant, but something didn't quite click. Also, he struggled too much while trying to learn how to speak German. He took a detour to India, where he had been able to visit the country where his grandfather had lived before coming to England and marrying into the Potter family. He had a great time sightseeing, but he doubted he could live the rest of his life in India, as much as he appreciated the country and culture.

He fell in love with Japan as soon as he set foot upon the Japanese ground. It was a fresh start, people were less likely to recognise him and he was terribly excited to learn about new customs and a whole new culture. The only obstacle left was the language barrier. However, Harry was nothing but concentrated and motivated when he was passionate. So, with the help of an American-Japanese cousin Hermione remained in contact with after her own visit to Japan -a man called Takeshi. He had blushed the first time Harry called his first name, and Harry flushed when he learnt that first name basis was reserved for close relationships (the cultural shock was the one huge obstacle he had to tackle)- Harry had been able to get down the basics of the new tongue, and progressed steadily as he spent more time exploring the country.

Then, he met the person who changed his life, and ever since, he never regretted his decision.

He literally stumbled upon the man in Metropolitan Tokyo while aimlessly wandering. Initially he had lost his way in the commercial district, until he wound up in one of the smaller alleys, probably where delivery typically took place. Just a few paces in front of him were a group of teenagers. He had heard that Japanese people were generally shorter than the majority of Europeans, but it seemed that these teens were as tall, or taller than him. And they were stalking forward towards an old man Harry could barely make out from his spot behind their backs.

What was more concerning was the one guy with a completely square head, and the girl with pincers for hands. That was weird. The square head, Harry could somewhat understand, even if the sharpness of the angles was unnatural. But the pincer girl was a bit too much. Moreover, they were a bright neon green and looked to be quite sturdy and agile. Harry could not conceive it to be something else apart from human transfiguration gone horribly wrong, or a new kind of super sophisticated eccentric prosthesis. Although he doubted that it was an actual prosthesis.

Harry had taken to hide himself in the alley perpendicular to the one the group was in, using the shadows provided by the piles of crates to avoid being seen. The teens were still close to him, but he was almost sure that he was unnoticeable. He had no plan to barge in and challenge them to save the old man's honour, even if a voice in his head which resembled Ron's was telling him to stop being a coward and move his ass to help someone. Hermione did always tell him that he had a hero complex. It was not exactly intentional that he had to do something if he saw someone who needed to be aided. Especially if it was one versus many. It reminded him of the war, where one small group of combatants, barely out of their teens and basically untrained, with some teachers past their prime, was up against an army, one which had gone through training and another war.

Harry could hear one of the members of the peculiar group speak up, requesting money for protection. So these were delinquents who were trying to terrorize an old man into giving in and handing them money. He really should have walked away, especially since pincer girl was snapping her pincers menacingly at the man, and they looked sharp and ready to pinch and possibly rip one or two arms off. Of course Harry bloody Potter would do the complete opposite and attract attention to himself. Wow. He sounded a bit like Malfoy when he was younger and more of a prat that he was nowadays.

"Hey you kids! What are doing out of school at this time? Scam now, or I'll drag you to the police station ASAP," he called out, coming out of his niche to stand proud and tall against them. He was not really going to do it, but threatening teens looked to be the better alternative to beating them up. Harry may have been a war veteran, but he used to rely on his magic and not his physical strength. The best he could do was run as fast as possible and control a broom, which mostly depended on the power his thighs and arms could produce while maintaining a moderately strong core. It's not like he could take out his broom and whack them on the head with it. That would be terribly uncivilized, even for him.

Immediately, the teens took notice of the short stack he was compared to them, and suddenly, Harry reconsidered his decision. They were ripped and armed. And appeared to be ready to attack. Curse his big mouth. Even the shortest and weakest looking had at least ten centimetres on him and gave him the impression that he could break him in half.

If only they would peacefully leave to attempt to make someone else piss their pants, that would be great, because Harry was not very sure he could deal with all of them diplomatically and avoid being deported back to England.

Then as if some kind of celestial being had graced him with luck - Harry always hoped that an UMA would visit him one day - the old man whom he was supposed to help moved away, ducked into what Harry assumed to be his store and slammed the door shut. He stuck his head out of a window upstairs just a few moments later whilst holding a cell phone to his ear. "I'm calling the police now. Leave the young man alone. You better run quick," he yelled at them.

Soon enough, the teens were out of sight and Harry had been invited inside the shop. He had been given a cup of strong black tea, something he found incredibly blissful. He cradled it in his still shaking hands, the adrenaline he felt slowly flushing out of his system. Taking slow sips of the piping hot beverage, Harry admired silently the flowers and plants surrounding him in the living room. They were well cared for and seemed to have been loved immensely.

The old man's name was Nakamura Reo. He was indeed being threatened by those bloody youngsters who had absolutely no manner - his words, not Harry's. He was also very capable of defending himself. That being said, Harry had to rush him to a nearby clinic because the old man toppled over when he got up to put away their mugs because of the pain radiating from his back. As it was, Nakamura was on strict bed rest since he had been able to strain his back solely by moving too much too fast. Harry found it ironically amusing.

Except that he felt guilty. Incredibly so. He could have distracted those hooligans and made them forget about Nakamura, so that he could lead them far away from there. But he did not so, now Nakamura was in no shape to care for his shop and flowers.

And he did the next thing Hermione expected him to do because he was a predictable idiot. So he proposed Nakamura to tend to his store until he was back on his feet.

"No."

Harry stared at him, incredulous. Why would Nakamura even say no. Harry had been the one who troubled him and now his plants and business were in danger.

"But... What about the shop? There's no way you can walk around with a back in such a state and the doc would kick both of us straight back into the hospital if she knew," Harry tried to reason. Nakamura proved to be nothing but a stubborn old man. However, Harry was known to be a persistent mule when he wanted to.

"Okay kid" - oh now it was kid and no longer young man - "I know you tried to help with the other kiddos earlier but there's no need to help anymore. I'm an old man, way past my golden days. I have been thinking of closing down the shop anyway and it's the perfect opportunity. My children have already told me that they would not take over after my retirement, plus they have already built their own lives anyway, and my husband is long gone."

Harry felt an ache form in his chest. The old balding bugger had already grown on him during the few hours they spent together. Nakamura didn't give the impression that he was too bad of a man. The fact that he was now alone in his tiny shop also struck a chord within Harry. After he left his blood family, he found amazing friends, which he loved immensely and tried his best to stay in contact with. It would have destroyed him if his friends would leave him all alone again.

So he made it a mission, even if it seemed selfish, to take over the flower store and accompany Nakamura during his recovery.

"Nakamura-san, sell me your shop."

"Brat, come again."

Okay maybe that was too sudden but when the genius inspiration strikes, you sometimes just gotta jump on it.

"Please, sir. If you're worried about the money, I will get it to you by the latest tomorrow evening. I'm willing to find an apartment nearby, you won't even need to move out. And I can learn quickly how to manage the store and the plants," Harry pleaded.

His answer was still a "no". Except that Harry knew he would win. Because of the puppy eyes. No one had been able to refuse him if he used them. He could probably have vanquished Voldemort with these killer eyes. It was a true weapon.

He sighed dejectedly, purposefully lowering his head in defeat. If he could amp his cuteness factor by a few more levels, Harry was sure he could break Nakamura down. "Alright, but please think a bit more about my offer? Since you've already told me that you wanted to retire," he requested.

Harry could see Nakamura crack a little.

"You're an obstinate kid, aren't you?" Nakamura chuckled. "Give me the night and I'll tell you tomorrow. By the way, where are you living?"

Harry blushed. "I haven't yet been able to find a nice spot to move to, so I'm residing in the hotel... Which now that I think of it... Nakamura-san? I'm lost."

Nakamura burst out into laughter. Harry now had to deal with the embarrassment, but he must admit that it was a fun experience.

Thankfully, Nakamura was able to indicate him his way back to his hotel among his snickers, which was not that far from the flower shop actually, although Harry had to ask for directions a few times on his way. Finally back at his room (he took a top level room, even if it was more expensive because the war still haunted him to this day), he collapsed onto his bed. He had just barely enough energy to remove his shoes and socks before climbing under the duvet. He was out like a light seconds after his head hit his heavenly soft and cloud-like pillow.

* * *

When he woke up, Harry could only remember his appointment with Nakamura. They had not chosen a time, but Harry would like to present the old man with at least some breakfast.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Thankfully, he did not wake up too late. It was barely quarter past six. Just in time to pick something hot from a bakery, if he could find one.

It took Harry less than ten minutes to take a shower - which he had forgone the previous evening in favour of collapsing face first into a mattress - and get dressed, glad to be out of the outfit in which he slept in. He was off to find the nearest spot for freshly baked goods soon enough, taking care to close and lock the door to his hotel room with just the slightest bit of added security.

He asked for directions at the reception to the nearest decent bakery, thanking the staff before zipping down the already busy streets of Tokyo. Luckily, he did not lose himself too badly, and slowly made his way towards the indicated bakery, the smell of bread quite literally guiding him towards his destination. By then, he was famished. He hurried all the way to Nakamura's flower shop, trying to remember the few distinctive locations, like the restaurant atop which a huge toilet rested, which could help him navigate in the still much unexplored city.

Harry could have groaned out loud in relief when he arrived. He had been allowed to at least reach his final stop without causing any problem, which was by itself an incredible feat considering his luck these days. Even the box of pastries he held was safe and intact.

Now, as he stood at the front door, he considered his options. He could invite himself in, seeing Nakamura had given him a spare key, or he could knock and wait for Nakamura - who was still on strict bed rest - to climb down the stairs and open the door for him. He chose to prevent Nakamura and himself from being offed by an enraged doctor. He had had the honour of experiencing the wrath of Poppy Pomfrey, and he had no intention of seeing whether the doctors in Japan were as feared as the ones he knew back in his homeland.

The delicate chime of the doorbell greeted him. He went upstairs through a door hidden by vines that held at their tips still budding hydrangeas. The only reason Harry could remember what kind of flower it was because it was the only flower that remained after Petunia's tender care in the Dursleys' backyard for Harry to maintain during the summer. It was a tripping experience since the plant parted to let him walk to the stairs when he barely touched them. It was not magic, or at least not the magic he practised.

He shrugged. Technology had improved by leaps and bounds since he was a child, before he left for Scotland. Having lost touch with the modern world a bit after seven years being almost completely separated from it could be tolerated, right? Plus it was Japan. The tech-country which mixed traditions with ultra-advanced machinery.

"Nakamura-san?" Harry called out as he arrived at the top of the stairs directly into a genkan, already removing his shoes and putting them aside. He heard a faint "Here" coming from a room in the hallway in front of him.

He assumed that it was okay for him to come in. Harry had little difficulty locating the source of the voice, and he found himself in the presence of Nakamura in the latter's bedroom, which was as embellished with flowers and potted plants as he had expected.

Harry took the pouf that took up the space near the bed, gingerly handing the old man resting there the box of pastries. He was met with reluctant approval. The silence between them was unnerving, especially since Harry was waiting for a clear answer to his abrupt proposal. It stretched into minutes, long and painful for Harry. Nakamura had no apparent reaction, serenely nibbling on his croissant while Harry was trying to stress-eat away his impatience.

"Young man - Harry-kun," Nakamura spoke up after finishing his pastry, making Harry start slightly. He was just glad that he didn't choose to try to fit another whole mini-quiche into his mouth. He did not fancy dying a savoury death. Although it would not be that bad a way to go.

"There's one thing first that we need to clarify before I agree to let you take over my modest shop."

Harry perked up at that. He really had a chance of dealing with the old man for a really long time - by taking care of the store, Harry meant, of course. It not like he would go upstairs everyday to spend some time with a lonely widower, who apparently had no neighbour who would willingly put themselves into danger's way to help someone in need.

"Yes?" Harry prompted.

"Do you have a fire-based Quirk? If so, do you have full control of it? I do not want to die in an incendiary accident in my own home."

Okay, first off. What is a Quirk? Is that the Japanese equivalent of magic? But Harry was sure that he had not used magic in front of anyone. How would Nakamura even know about his magic? He did not perceive any form of supernatural energy that he knew of coming from the man. But now that he really thought about it, pincer girl could be explained by magic. Was magic more integrated in the Japanese culture than in the British community? If yes, would he easily be recognised?

Unperturbed by Harry's internal freak out, Nakamura continued. "I myself have a plant-based Quirk. You'd have to be blind if you hadn't noticed the moving hydrangeas. Mine simply allows me to 'feel' through plants, as well as instruct them to do as I ask. The more I interact with one particular plant, the stronger a bond grows. It's a real friendly chat that gets them going, or they can just be unwilling to cooperate."

Was Nakamura an elemental mage? Was it even a thing in the magical world? He could even talk to plants. Harry could too, but that'd just prove to Skeeter that she was right about him being a bit off in the head. There may be a potion to regrow bones, cruel and vicious human-killers like the basilisk, but who says that mages do exist. Harry felt the beginning of a huge headache and pain in the ass starting to form. Merlin saves him.

Harry chose to answer as accurately. "I don't only have fire abilities, sir. Generally speaking, I'm very good at repelling spells, so I don't rely much on fire."

This drew a sharp intake of air from the old man. Harry could hear him mutter under his breath, something along the lines of "Multi-faceted Quirk user"? It didn't make much sense to Harry. All of his peers could just as well perform the Expelliarmus, although that specific spell was Harry's trademark. Non-lethal, but it did its job efficiently.

Nakamura hummed. Harry was tempted to scream his head off. All the rumbling thoughts and mutters were getting to him and fraying his temper. Admitted, he was getting better at holding it back, but he was no saint. Even if Malfoy used to insist that he was.

"I don't have many more accidents, if you want to know. I've gotten pretty good at holding back nowadays," Harry offered.

Nakamura looked at him pensively for a few more moments, before finally taking pity on Harry and giving him a decisive answer. "Alright young man. You'll have the store. Let us set the paperwork straight and we'll be good. I expect to be allowed to live in my home however. I'll call my lawyer to start drafting the papers. Also, you will need training. I cannot let someone still wet behind the ears to take over from me."

Harry was absolutely overwhelmed, but he was glad. It would surely be a hard job, but at least he would have a mentor to guide him in this new uncertain territory.

* * *

 **AN : And I'm on with my new project. It's been lurking on the edge of my mind since a while, but I got around to actually start writing it only 4 days ago. But I must admit I'm quite pleased with myself. I don't know yet how long it'll be since I'm writing purely on whim, but there's still that.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Acclimatisation

**AN : Hey guys, this might take a while for me to update again. My mental health is not really what it used to be. It went as far as to affect me physically, and the worse is that I'm put under so much stress anxiety is getting to me again. Currently, I've experienced anxiety fits and near constant breathlessness, and the skin on my hands is one hairbreadth from breaking. Final nail is that I busted my hand out of frustration. It took a lot of effort for me to have been able to write these past weeks, and I did try my best.**

 **But please don't mind me and enjoy.**

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Chapter Two - Acclimatisation

Harry lasted three entire months believing that Quirks were magic before he learnt that no, they aren't. He did not even learn the fact by himself. Hermione, Ron and him were doing their usual three-way conversation over the ConvOrb, the new crystal balls that allowed people to talk in real time as long as they tuned in the correct wavelength - that essentially worked like cellphones except that they did not short-circuit whenever someone performed magic nearby - courtesy of a one time collaboration between the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes store and Luna Lovegood. Luna did always have amazing and odd bizarre ideas that still made sense.

Hermione was asking him how he was doing, especially now that he was in charge of an entire shop, without much experience in customer retail services. He answered very truthfully.

"I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing and sometimes clients are either rude, super eccentric, or don't know what they're searching for. If Nakamura-san was not here with me, I'm pretty sure I'd already have set the shop on fire, with me inside. Thank Merlin for having his back healed completely already. Really. Just this morning, a dude just barged in with a hyper realistic horse mask, and asked in a hurry for roses. Lots of them in all the colours we had. Nakamura-san had to get up from his chair to bargain with the rose bushes to supply us more to last for the rest of the day. Guess who's getting an extra dose of fresh manure?"

Hermione and Ron laughed at his dismayed face. "I told you that it would be difficult to manage your own shop," Ron chortled. "Fred and George were near mental meltdowns almost everyday."

The mention of the twins sobered them all. George had badly taken his twin's death. He had had troubles falling asleep and avoided mirrors like the plague. Harry had tried to make him leave England as well, just to escape their home land, but George had insisted to hold up his brother's legacy. Harry would have stayed back as well, if Andromeda had not convinced him that he was free now. She was a strong woman, she proved them all. Teddy also had difficulties being separated from her, but Harry tried his damn best to be able to see his godson as often as possible. Andromeda had confided that Teddy could get a little grumpy if Harry did not ConvOrb'd them every other day.

Harry hurried to dissipate the tension. "Hey, 'Mione?" he called.

His friend huffed in indignation. Her name was nice as it was. No need to butcher it so much, yet Harry still did to get a rise out of her. It was just tradition now.

"I know that Ron and you are in Australia to find your parents, but did you find the magical community there? I'm kind of curious about other cultures nowadays, especially since I noticed that magic is quite liberal in Japan, while Germany and India weren't as open. At most, the more rural areas in India accepted magical people, like seers or general spellcasters, but I didn't have the opportunity to explore more and learn about their beliefs about magicals."

"I'm glad you asked, Harry! As you already know, I've been able to pinpoint the approximate location where my parents currently live, so we took some time off from our search," Hermione was positively vibrating in her seat, as Ron got up, probably to get the kettle which had started whistling sometimes during Hermione's excited verbal onslaught. "And we found the whereabouts of magicals. We had planned on visiting tomorrow. From what I gathered, the Australian community in the cities is still closed off. Which makes me think. Harry, isn't magical Japan strict about magic use?"

"I don't know, 'Mione. Nakamura-san is pretty okay at using his magic to talk to his plants. Sometimes, villains, as they call them here, attack the city or the citizens and heroes come in to save the day. I must admit that it's quite refreshing to be able to count on professionals to save you. But they all use magic, I think. There's Endeavor who typically uses fire, as well as Present Mic - didn't I tell you about him? That guy is awesome! - who's got a Voice Quirk. They call magic Quirks, isn't that funny?"

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds, her jaw slack with disbelief. Harry felt like an idiot, and he did not even know why. Hermione always had this kind of effect on Ron and him. She was usually well documented and educated, even on the weirdest subjects, so Harry guessed he had made a mistake. Perhaps had he mispronounced something? He had this bizarre habit of saying something but thinking of something else, and he normally never noticed unless someone told him. He thought that he had grown out of it.

"Harry, are you aware of the fact that Quirks are _not magic_?" she asked him, a tiny frown adorning her face, her fuzzy hair almost rising with what seemed to be astonishment, almost like Crookshanks' fur when he was surprised.

It took him a moment to understand properly what Hermione had just revealed to him. The horror dawned on him quickly after his epiphany.

"You mean," he whispered, his throat tight, "that all what Nakamura-san was doing, the plants, the roses, heck the hydrangeas and the sunflowers! That was not magic? What the hell... But - but Endeavor! That looks too much like well controlled Fiendfyre for it not to be a spell." He knew he was rambling, but the fact that the Heroes he looked up to as fellow magic casters actually didn't use magic was mind-boggling.

He started giggling uncontrollably, so hard that his ribs felt like they would collapse on themselves. His throat was on fire, as he struggled to calm himself down to answer Hermione's concerned questions. Vaguely, he could hear Ron question in the background whether he had lost his marbles, or was that normal behaviour, the clinking of porcelain indicating that he had come back with cups. Harry wished he could get himself a cup of tea to soothe his frayed nerves.

"Ron, you don't understand," he hiccuped with difficulty. "There was a man-horse who asked me for roses. A man with a horse head. I don't even know if he was just wearing a mask or if it was the result of a Quirk. A girl with pincers for hands had menaced Nakamura-san and me. And that boy had perfectly square cranium. What is even that word? It sounds so strange. Cranium." He dissolved into another fit of laughter, unable to hold in his giggles. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes and slowly slipped down his face, as he slowly drowned external sounds with his own thoughts.

He was able to breathe and think properly after several long and painful minutes.

Hermione and Ron were patiently waiting for him. Harry felt the heat in his cheeks rise up a few more degrees. Thankfully, his friends could deal with him, even at his worst, so a bit of hysterical laughter was nothing to them. They knew that talking to him in this state would only have aggravated the situation, and could do not much more than wait for him to calm himself down. Harry had never taken well to human touch during his meltdowns.

Hermione quickly changed the subject. She obviously could sense that Harry needed a break and some time to process the new information he was given and recalibrate his world.

"Have you gotten the book about flower language I've sent to you? I've myself taken a look at it, and while flowers are not my thing, the story and emotions that can be conveyed through non-verbal communication and gifts is a work of art. I wish you could say something like 'Rendez-vous at eight sharp, location Trafalgar Square and bring a knife'. It'd have been both funny and quite useful to decipher such messages," Hermione uttered almost too quickly for Harry and Ron to follow.

Her boyfriend piped up. "Muggles can't do that? Magical morning glories - the kind that threw up acid on you if you're not careful - were commonly used as a way to challenge an opponent into a formal duel, with the loser's wand at stake. That had been some decades since it was last trendy. Nowadays we just go up to who we want to find with a contract. It's easier, quickly, and won't wilt as fast."

That was some surprising information.

* * *

Now, Harry wished that they had something that would express his sentiment of the moment. He was in the presence of a huge man. He felt so damn tiny, a sensation he was not used to, back in England. He was tall among his peers, but he was totally dwarfed by the man, who introduced himself as Yagi Toshinori. Not only was he tall, but he looked quite intimidating as well. Prominent bags shadowed his eyes, which were quite possibly the bluest eyes that Harry have ever seen, set into a tired face. The bright blond hair looked soft however. Harry wanted to run his hands through the long bangs that looked like floppy rabbit ears.

He probably would like something that went along the lines of "Help I don't know if it's a gentle giant, or if I'll be crushed under a boot soon".

Harry very hesitantly chirped a "Welcome to The Green Stalk. How may I help you today?"

The man was asking for a carnation bouquet, specifically for striped ones. They had only a few of them in the store, since they were not quite popular. But Harry was able to catch the meaning behind. They usually represented refusal.

The poor man. Or perhaps was he oblivious to the meaning of the flowers. Harry had been studying flower language for only a short while, and could remember basic meanings, so he was maybe mistaken and Yagi simply liked the flowers. They were quite lovely, if Harry could say so. Or perhaps was he biased because he had lent a helping hand growing these exact same flowers.

Carefully, he plucked a handful of them from the display pots, going back to the table for the making of the bouquet. He had at first been clumsy at his attempts, but over the time, he got the technique, although he was still slow. At least now he could make some mean arrangements. He had to, or he would have to suffer the disappointed mentor gaze coming from Nakamura and he could not possibly live with the guilt of having failed the expectations of the old man since he had been the one who taught Harry how to wrap the flowers and sort them.

He chattered amiably with Yagi as he worked on the bouquet. The man was pleasant, even if his height was still somewhat unsettling, but Harry had known Hagrid since he was eleven - the shocking element was still in play as Harry had the faint impression that Yagi was taller than even Hagrid. They had settled on a very plain ribbon and silvery wrapping paper. Harry entertained the thought of asking for what occasion Yagi was buying flowers. He quickly squished the thought. He was not working there to pry into other person's matters, he was doing only his job so this information would be unnecessary.

Harry had to admit that he was quite curious however. The tall man had mentioned that he was working in a Hero agency. He also mentioned cats and the conversation devolved into a debate about cats versus dogs. Yagi argued with some solid points, but Harry had the advantage of not dying due to allergies every time he went near a canine friend. Plus he had the experience with Crookshanks.

* * *

Harry was still meeting weird people, and welcoming back regulars. Yagi became made several more appearances in the store, although he was in a hurry most of the time. Harry would have loved to hear more from him. However, as time passed, Harry became better and better at floral arrangements and Yagi's visits were shortening. They still held friendly conversations, which did not exceed ten minutes most of them time.

And Harry was right. Yagi had no idea which flowers meant what. He had wanted to go see a student -apparently he worked part time for his Hero agency while still teaching at a high school. What an amazing man! - at the hospital after they injured themselves during training. With orange roses. And coriander flowers. Which in itself is an incredibly odd and rare combination. Both of them could mean lust. Which was coincidental.

Harry almost broke something from trying not to laugh, since he knew that this particular student was like his own child to Yagi. Instead of bursting into laughter and embarrassing Yagi, Harry gently taught him what they actually represented. He had not known that someone could blush and cough up a terrifying amount of blood at the same time. He also freaked out. He had almost reached for the phone at the counter when Yagi grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Oh god, I did not mean to alarm Harry-san," sputtered Yagi as he attempted to talk between coughs. Harry guided him to the chair behind the counter, sat him down gently, one hand groping behind his back to reach for the bell that usually rested near the register. Nakamura had told Harry that his plants would relay messages to him if it was urgent enough and trained them to respond to the chime of the bell.

"I'm used to this already. I've got a medical condition and this is only a side effect of a surgery," Yagi muttered weakly.

The admission lead to them planning a lunch together because Yagi was feeling guilty for making Harry worry even more. They exchanged phone number (Harry had to buy one as Nakamura had requested that he could contact him in times of need. Like when juvenile delinquents would try to rob him) after some awkward shuffling and Harry trying to wipe off the blood still on Yagi's chin, resulting in another spurt of blood with a faint groan from the blond.

Nakamura refused politely, saying that he "did not want to intrude" then took his leave. The old man was tending to his friends upstairs when Harry called him, and generously brought down tea for them, setting the tray down to scamper away as Harry tried his best to accommodate Yagi.

Thankfully, it was not a busy day, even if it was bad for business, but at least Harry had the opportunity to keep an eye on Yagi as he sipped on his tea -delighful, with a mist of cream and a tiny dollop of honey- as the man slowly recovered from his blood vomit spree. Harry noticed that he surprisingly took his tea with milk and sugar. He had expected him to drink it black and hard.

Yagi regained some colours after a few minutes pleasantly spent drinking their beverages. Harry observed him from the corner of his eye, trying to judge whether it was wise to accompany him to a clinic or allow him to visit his student then go get himself checked out at the hospital. However, Yagi seemed to be doing much better, so Harry asked him, and the answer horrified him.

"Are you alright now? Should I call a doctor? Or do you have any kind of medicine that can help you?" he questioned, the worry making him become much more inquisitive.

"Oh, it's quite alright. I'm used to having these kinds of fits, even if the blood is a bit newer. Getting blood off my clothes the first time had been a funny, yet traumatizing experience. I'll get myself checked out at the hospital if it allows you a clearer conscience," Yagi replied.

It was quite possibly a bad idea to tell Harry that the blood was not Yagi's usual symptoms, as he fussed and Yagi was prompted into promising to keep him updated on his health as soon as he got back home.

The tall man left quick enough, after being reminded one last time of the lunch he had given his word for and taking with him a bouquet of gladiolus -which Harry found much more fitting, because of the remembrance and strength the flowers are supposed to symbolize- and leaving Harry alone with the thought that it seemed that he had been able to make a friend.

Coincidentally, Nakamura chose that exact time to come back downstairs - for a man who had just recently strained his back, Nakamura sure could climb the stairs often - to seat himself in his cozy sofa he had Harry bring down when the chair he usually sat on proved to be too uncomfortable to use during his recovery, and regarded Harry with a critical eye.

Harry fidgeted under his gaze, feeling suddenly awkward. Nakamura probably had asked his green friends relay the conversation to him, and even if Harry did nothing wrong, he still felt somewhat guilty. He got up abruptly. "I'll bring the tea tray upstairs. Can you watch over the shop for a few moments Nakamura-san?"

He scuttled away before Nakamura even opened his mouth, but he still heard him mutter under his breath and felt heat rise up his cheeks and in his ears, "At least he could have made worse choices for a relationship."


	3. Chapter 3 - Regularity

Chapter Three - Regularity

Harry was used to waking up at the crack of dawn to manage his workload of chores back when he was still living with the Dursley family, so getting up at half past five was not that difficult for him, especially with his alarm clock blaring into his ear with the most annoying sound he had ever heard in his entire life. It was like someone was strangling Voldemort on helium.

He was able to settle into a routine easily. After all, practice makes perfect, and he had plenty of that from his years with his relatives.

He stumbled out of his cocoon of blankets, forgoing to make his bed (Nakamura had proposed the idea of a futon when he had first moved in but Harry was not comfortable in them. It reminded him of how he had been sleeping during the times of war, close to the ground, although he was certain that a futon would be more comfortable to lie in) then went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He was one of the persons who brushed their teeth after eating.

The first thing he hurried to do was to make himself the largest cup of tea he could, barely leaving it to infuse - plopping two ice cubes in there for fast cooling - downing it in a few huge gulps as soon as possible, and still scalding his throat on the way down as he cracked two eggs on the pan, the sizzling somewhat a soothing background noise. He was still groggy and half-asleep, even if he was used to ready so early in the morning. Hermione, Ron and he had stayed up late last night since Hermione was apprehensive and excited by the fact that she was at the closest to reaching her parents. The couple had planned to visit them just this afternoon. Harry hoped that Hermione would be able to retrieve their memories safely and without troubles. Harry had no doubt that the team of memory specialists Hermione, Ron and he had been able to assemble would allow a smooth transition for the Granger parents.

His eggs were finally done cooking. He took a second to decide whether to fry some sausages, but chose against it. He had a delicate stomach in the morning, and stuffing himself full would only make him feel queasy for the rest of the day. Two eggs were already pushing his limit. He settled on peeling a tangerine to enjoy after he would eat his eggs.

Harry weighed his option for a homemade lunch to bring at work. He could make sandwiches, but he was not in the mood for bread. He settled instead on the leftover from his dinner, roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, and tomato salad he quickly chopped and put into a Tupperware. His breakfast was lukewarm by the time he finished preparing his lunch, but he had a cat's tongue, so it worked for him. He chowed them down in less than five mouthfuls. He knew that it was bad practice, but it was a habit from his childhood and time of war that stayed with him.

He knew that he could also have made his breakfast easier by using his magic, but physical work helped him focus for the day.

He looked at the clock hanging on the wall of his tiny living room. It was still only quarter to six, giving him just the time to go through his daily cleanup and grab a shower. He crossed the way through his apartment towards his bedroom, groaning when he spotted his unmade bed. It was time to roll his sleeves and clean up.

By then, he had been able to up his time managing skills, and he had the advantage of the short distance between his favourite bakery, his apartment and the store. He still was almost late to the flower shop. He simply was relieved to have survived his mad dash to the bakery to grab some pastries and to the flower shop. He really should start exercising more. Harry had the vaguest feeling that he would have to run much more very soon.

He entered the shop through the back door, taking the time to check his surroundings for stay delinquents or if he was lucky, a yakuza member, before going into the alley. With his infamous luck, he could probably attract the heir to some kind of mafia empire and have to fight and stop them by ripping both their arms off by force. Although he doubted he had that kind of physical strength, he would be forever haunted by the possibility of being so bloody unlucky.

For the time being, he was quite happy that Nakamura was not yet chewing him out for cutting so close. He was not late as far as he knew, and he still had plenty of time to get ready to open the store. He only had to mop up the floor - just for that extra shine since he had gotten used to tidy up after closing time - and take care of the flowers in the display pots. Nakamura would have also handed the flower production section as well, but the old man was frankly too attached to his long time friends. Harry could understand his reluctance to let go of whom he considered his closest and oldest friends, but he also thought that the old man should go out more often. There was nothing wrong with wanting to avoid human interaction - Harry often did it as well; avoiding all his friends for weeks at time - but having only a war veteran who was also some forty years younger than him and plants to talk to would maybe have a negative impact on his emotional state. But who was Harry for him to talk? He had been going to the therapist for only so long. He had to admit that talking was helping, as well as medications. He had still nightmares, and was still an insomniac but he was getting slowly better.

He went up the stairs, softly greeting the plant that hid the way. Harry had picked the habit of greeting and talking to the plants from Nakamura. It was weird at first, because a lot of their clients would wonder out loud if Harry had the same Quirk as Nakamura. Both of them were flustered because it also held the implications that Harry was perhaps a family member with whom Nakamura shared his Quirk with. Warmth blossomed inside his chest however.

Harry had dreamt of one day building a large family, one which would be as welcoming, loving and open-minded as the one he had never had. The Weasleys may have been the closest of what could be a proper family to him, but there was always that barrier that he could not define. It had something to do with his status of orphan and Saviour of the whole freaking Wizarding world. He had hoped that his relationship with Ginny would have been the one and only. He had been mistaken. They ultimately decided that they would not continue where they had left off, instead they found out that they were perfectly happy not being romantically involved. She was too alike to his mother anyway. Fierce, strong and protective. They even looked physically similar. It would have been a remix of the previous Mr and Mrs Potter. Their dying relation also allowed them to explore themselves. While they went against the general public's expectations of them, their loved ones understood their struggles.

Harry, Ginny and their peers had been thrust into a war that had spanned over three different generations; one whose outlook seemed terrible. They were all teenagers, not even out of school and just barely legal. Not only they had to battle against political figures, but as well as engage into physical altercations. They had lost one of their mentors, who was said to be the only one who could have put up against the foe. They suffered. They changed and were forced to grow up too quickly. He had been entrusted the will and goal of a man as flawed as one could get. Dumbledore was perhaps not the best person would could have taken care of an entire school of magically and emotionally growing teens, and was the reason that pushed Harry towards death. But his envisioned future would have been devoid of the greatest threat in Europe since the last World War. Harry would only have needed to take a deep breath and allow himself to embrace death like an old friend. The lost of one person outweighed the total ruin of a whole society. Admittedly, Tom Riddle and Harry Potter had lived very similar lives. Orphans, left behind by their only remaining families, bullied for being different. Harry wondered if he would have lost himself like Tom did if he had not met such amazing friends.

Harry absently noticed that he was going in too deep. He needed to calm down before he would require help. Anxiety attacks are bad, and he had no intention of scaring Nakamura if he was the one who would find Harry crumbled on the ground in a dead faint from the effect of the stress. He took a deep breath and held it. He found it difficult to hold it more than a few seconds, but persevered. His therapist had been very patient as ze taught him how to handle his attacks. He was not as terrified as he had been the first time. He exhaled slowly, struggling to maintain a steady flow of air from his lungs. He repeated the exercise several times, until his breath evened out and he could blink the black spots from his vision.

Boy, it would be a pain to tell his doctor about this. Now, if only he could get some tea and bring the box of pastries that he had been clutching in his hand up to Nakamura, he would be infinitely much better. He was already exhausted. It would be a long day.

* * *

"Nakamura-san, can you please watch over the store while I go deliver these flowers? I'll try to be quick," Harry called out as he slipped on a helmet.

"Okay, brat. Take care. Rosy here needs me anyway," Nakamura answered, tenderly caressing a leaf of his rose bush, the last flowers he and his late husband had planted together. It reminded Harry of Neville and how his plants absolutely adored him. They always seem to bristle whenever Harry approached them before the war. It got a bit better afterwards. The carnivorous pitcher plant at least stopped trying to swallow him whole whenever he visited Neville. Thankfully, non-magical plants seemed to be alright with him, if Nakamura had not lied to him about this.

Harry grabbed a helmet and the bouquet he had been working on for the past fifteen minutes, which consisted mostly of baby breath flowers, pink carnations and white roses. It took him a while to assemble it as the whites of the baby breaths and roses blended in together, making them look like dandruff stuck to the roses. He had to separate each of them with the carnations. It looked lovely now, and the mother who would receive them seemed to be a loved woman.

The client had phoned Harry half an hour ago, asking for a flower bouquet for a reunion with their mother after a long period of time not having any contact with her. He was given the freedom of choosing whichever flowers he saw would be most fitting. Harry was glad he had been able to help someone convey their feelings, even as subtly as with flower language. It was however a bit saddening: he was to deliver them to the Matsuzawa hospital - which was found a bit further away in Metropolitan Tokyo. The only information his client had given him was that they would wear UA's uniform and wait for him at the entrance of the hospital.

As he made his way towards his destination by bicycle, the bouquet tucked carefully in the front basket, Harry allowed himself to think. He had been in Japan for a few months now, and UA's Sports Festival only just ended, so he was becoming more and more familiar with current events in his country of residence. He had watched only by passing the festival, as at the time, Nakamura and he were trying to keep up with the demand of floral arrangements which were on the rise. The flower craze leveled down as when the festival ended. Harry's guess was that the spectators wanted to congratulate and encourage the participants. It was kind of a sweet gesture, even if some of them sent loads and loads of petunias. Which could mean hatred or anger, or wanting to spend time with someone due to being enjoyable company. Harry doubted it was the latter.

He also got interested in Quirks and their natures. As far as he could tell, they were not very common in England, and Europe in general. He had asked Hermione how she knew. She told him that she just watched and read international news. It made sense. She detested being uninformed, and since Takeshi was Japanese, Harry could draw conclusions for himself. She had known all along and allowed him to go to foreign countries without any knowledge of Quirks. Or perhaps she had assumed that he would have been more informed since she had been insisting that Ron and him learnt more about worldwide events.

So, he searched more on Quirks online (thank Merlin for technology. He loved his phone to pieces, ever since he was taught - by Nakamura - how to browse the internet and set up an email). He had found out that 20 percent of the world population was Quirkless, most of them residing within Europe, and the remaining 8 percent scattered all over the world. Quirks are passed down by genes, and essentially spread throughout the world, so geographically, it was a bit bizarre that Quirkless people were centered in Europe, especially since nowadays people mingle more and more with other countries.

The Dursleys had been the most "normal" people he knew, and now he knew that instead, they were part of a minority. It was ironic that they used to bully him over his magic. They probably had chosen a neighbourhood to reside in where every neighbour would be Quirkless as well. Ickle Dudleykins should by all cost be protected from freaks of nature - given by their reactions to any kind of magicals Harry could imagine Petunia say something like that.

Harry briefly wondered what kind of Quirk he would have if he had been born with one. It could be something that would be terribly useful in his younger years, like the ability to float, or fly. He would have sold his arm and half a leg to see it happen, even if it was something as tiny as explosive sneezing.

At least he had retained enough paranoia from his time in the war to not to be stupid enough to use openly his magic in from of Quirk users. He feared what would be the consequence of him showing powers that would undoubtedly look different from Quirks. Actually, it was a miracle that no one came at his door - in the apartment he just moved in after spending months in a hotel then downgrading to a motel to a manga cafe - to drag him to face the Japanese authorities as he had confided to Nakamura that he had magic (although he had not explicitly told the old man that magic existed. The old man assumed that it was a sort of Quirk; it worked to Harry's advantage).

The ride to the hospital was unexpectedly short. Harry arrived safely to his destination, without causing any kind of bodily harm or accident. Immediately, he spotted a head that was glaringly obvious in the pale background of the hospital compound.

His client was Todoroki Shouto.

Harry was able to meet with one of the most promising rising Heroes of the generation. He could clearly remember his Quirk, especially during his match against the self-destructive Deku, a kid whom Harry thought was a bit over the top, but he shouldn't judge. He had literally thrown himself into the maws of death to be able to kill off the Horcrux that was clinging to him, while the boy only broke most bones inside his arm, and fingers. The combo Quirk - ice and fire were an interesting yet odd occurrence - was mesmerizing, although all the other Quirks were amazing as well.

Taking the time to safely put his bike into the slot allocated to them some metres off the car parking, Harry walked to his client. He subtly studied the teen, noticing his height first. For someone his age, he had to be tall. He was quite possibly already on his way to grow way taller than Harry could ever achieve. The second detail that jumped to his face was his perfectly parted hair. There was no mixing of differently coloured hair strands, and it looked smooth and silky. Harry wanted to run his hand through it, but that surely would make him a creep.

Also, the teen hero-to-be looked uncomfortable as hell. He did not fidget, and his gaze was steady and fixed, but he clearly was sweating on one side while his right side was turning frosty, tiny crystals of ice covering his brow and shining under the glare of the sun. He had to be quite nervous to lose control of his Quirk. Surely, it worked like the basis of magic. Young children would have problems controlling their Quirks during emotional situations, like magical children. Todoroki looked like he had enough control on his Quirk during the sports festival for him to maintain a decent grip on his power in normal circumstances.

As he stepped closely, Todoroki immediately snapped his head towards his direction, making Harry jump the slightest bit before settling down. The teen gave a once-over to the bouquet, then turned his eyes back to Harry. His client looked like he appreciated the flowers as he nodded and reached for his back pocket. Harry wanted to tell him not to put his wallet where he could not see it - vaguely recalling Mad-Eye Moody saying something about losing a buttcheek.

Todoroki thankfully handed him the exact amount (since Harry was a stupid idiot and forgot to bring a purse of change), trading his handful of notes and coins for the bouquet. Harry did not linger for very long, as he was still on-duty and Nakamura was waiting for him back in the shop, throwing a cheerful "Thanks for your patronage" over his shoulder before going back on his bike. He kind of wished he could have met the mother of such a brave young man, but in the end, it was an intimate encounter with family. Embarrassed at his own thoughts, Harry slunk away from the hospital.

* * *

Apparently, Todoroki liked his floral arrangement so much that he requested another one soon after the first. This time, he was the one who went to collect his order from the shop.

Harry had been at his usual spot behind the counter, Yagi having left the store mere minutes before the teen came in, the cups they were drinking from still sitting on the tabletop, waiting to be washed and put away.

The bell chimed again. Harry vaguely thought that Yagi had perhaps forgotten something, which was in itself peculiar as Yagi was a very organised man. He slowly turned to the door, stumped to find a head of red and blindingly white hair instead of the sunny blond he was expecting. His eyes started to water slightly from the reflection of the white directly into his face.

Luckily - not really for him - Nakamura had pounded manners into his skull, with the help of Rosy and Hyacinth, both flicking him very, very discreetly in the face if he made a mistake. He greeted his customer, satisfaction curling in his guts as none of the plants assigned to supervising his manners scolded him. He had learnt well, and quickly.

He received a somewhat awkward bow back. That was surprising. The teen must surely have been raised in a stricter environment. The other adolescents who frequented the shop were usually more open and less formal. To be fair, Harry was not the best one to come to when it was about 'normalcy'. Magic, personal experiences, or Quirk status.

"How may I help you today, sir?" Harry asked, trying to be helpful. The teen visibly flushed, the blood rising fast high on his face. It was an adorable reaction. Harry also observed an immediate frosting over of his nose bridge. Todoroki was also obviously using his Quirk in an effort to cool himself down. That was probably the cutest thing Harry had ever seen in his life. He should also avoid any kind of teasing if he wanted to avoid having the ghost of Nakamura haunting him to the end of his life because the teen standing in front of him decided that lighting himself on fire was a good way to deal with embarrassment.

The teen shuffled over to the counter, eyeing the cups, before looking straight to Harry. That kid was full of surprises. He was weirded out and uncomfortable by the situation, but still had enough courage to toughen up and stare into a stranger's eyes. Harry had to applaud his stance. He was still relaxed, his back ramrod straight but his shoulders were not tensed up. Harry theorized that it came from his Hero training: ready for everything.

"I would like a bouquet for a... friend," Todoroki requested. Harry noted the slight hesitance, nodding in understanding. He had heard that the Hero world was an unforgiving cutthroat one - which he found ironic. One young hero had to start forming alliances quickly, even one who had familial backing. Or perhaps Harry was reading too deep into the slight pause in the teen's voice. He did tend to overthink. It was maybe for a mate. That was how adolescents called their datefriends, right? Harry did not have the correct social skills to confirm.

"Of course, sir!" he chirped, giving his client a small smile he hoped was encouraging. Since Rosy did not found it necessary to flick him, he guessed it was a decent smile. "Which flowers would you like? We have those ones on the stands, or would you rather like something more special? However I must warn you, if you choose a customization, it'll require a bit more time to finish the bouquet."

Information-dumping the kid might not have been the best way to approach him, as Harry had no desire to overwhelm him, but there they were. The younger seemed to take it in strides however as he responded quickly. "Something more lilac toned, please? The rest is up to you."

Lilac was one fancy way to put it, but Harry was not one to judge. Purple flowers were not very trendy at the moment, so their selections were limited. They had some more popular anemone flowers still on hand, and some roses and lavender left over from a wedding. There may also be some daffodils and crocuses back in the storage room, and the cultivation room. He needed to ask Nakamura.

"I'll be done in about ten minutes," Harry concluded. He offered a seat to the youngster (Harry was not that old. He was barely in his twenties) who took it with a small "Thank you" then got to work. He searched in the sectioned off parts of the shop to confirm which flowers he had to work with, bumping into Nakamura in doing so. No one was hurt in the process.

Todoroki left the store exactly nine minutes twenty seven seconds later, a bouquet of daffodils and crocuses in hand, wrapped prettily together with a forest green ribbon. Ron always told him that his colour coordination was awful, but Harry thought that the mauve-green combination was one of the best he could produce. he sighed, satisfied with his work. He could take a break after cleaning up his work station and possibly pass by a café after he closed the shop for a cup of hot chocolate. He would need the sugar. Hermione and Ron were supposed to ConvOrb him to tell him about their meeting today.

* * *

 **And I'm done for this time guys. I hope you enjoy as much as I did while writing it. It's not very action-y right now, but things are going to change soon... That's ominous and so overused, but whatever I didn't have enough coffee to deal with myself.**


	4. Chapter 4 - Decisions for One

Chapter 4 - Decisions for One

 **I'm not dead yet! I'm burnt out AF. And I'm tired. And broke AF. I also want to cry. Also I hate college fees. Did I mention I wouldn't mind a coffee?**

 **Warning : ANGST, don't tell me I didn't warn you. Also, discussion of cancer.**

* * *

Harry trudged to his apartment, completely exhausted. Adult life was tiring and shitty. He had barely reached adulthood. Maybe he could bury himself into some caramel popcorn and soda and a new series, settling into his comfortable couch after removing his shoes and hanging his coat, so that he could forget all of his very serious and adult problems. He would have gone straight to watching Sherlock usually but it was back to its excruciating hiatus, again. He only had to wait for at least three years for a new season. Instead, he sat down to watch Voltron: Legendary Defender. It was perhaps intended for younger audience, but he could not deny that the show was attention-catching and made it easy to get involved.

He truly loved his job - he did! - although he sometimes had sneezing fits from inhaling too much pollen, but the amount of times he crashed into his cough and passed out because he was getting too tired was exceeding Hermione-levels. Even the walk to his apartment was now exhausting. Harry was just thankful that it was not too far from the store. He could perhaps invest into getting a bike, instead of insisting to get to work on foot. He was a stubborn ass, but not to this point usually. Or he could simply find an apartment nearer to Nakamura's.

Nakamura was slowly showing that he was fatigued as well. Perhaps was it because of his old age - he was nearing his eighty fifth birthday - but he was less energetic. He had become more lethargic and took more regularly naps. It worried Harry, but the sole thing he could attempt to do was to nag the old man to go see a doctor until he agreed to, even if he had to find one who was willing to do home visits. He had scheduled an appointment for three days from now, for which Nakamura had requested he stayed with him for it.

As expected, he flopped onto his soft couch, sinking into the soft squish. He had fallen in love in this red couch as soon as he spotted it, and proceeded to buy it immediately. It livened up his living room quite a lot, especially in addition to the earthy tones and flat beiges.

He had lost his button up shirt along the way to what he considered his final resting place, and wiggled out of his skinny jeans. He laid there, just in an undershirt, which rode up to expose his lower back, and his boxers. He dragged the quilt from the back of the couch to roll into, snuggling into the fluffy hand-knitted wool. It was a gift from both Mrs Weasley and George, who unexpectedly took up to knitting during his free time. He had listened to them rant about how they had argued for hours on to find the perfect colour combination, and the right type of wool to use. Eventually, Molly won with her beige and pastel blue combo, but George was the one who bought the yarn at a small specialised shop which were selling enchanted (and not jinxed) yarn balls. It would be very difficult for him to snag the quilt onto anything.

Harry yawned, and grumbled a little under his breath. His back was yelling at him again for trying to lift up heavy objects, such as the bag of about thirty kilos of nutrients. At least it was not dirt, since The Green Stalk was a hydroponic plant cultivator. It was a bit more expensive to maintain, but on the long run, it was more beneficial since they could closely monitor the amount of water and different nutrient blocks which were distributed around the cultures.

Harry should probably move his butt into action. He had yet to eat dinner, and Luna had this supernatural -even for Wizarding standards- ability to sense when he would miss a meal, and he would be left dealing with an irritated Seer (they had all suspected, but Luna was an emotion-based seer. She could only see glimpses of the near future, and had visions of the present, especially about persons she cared about). Last time, she had passive aggressively threatened to come all the way to Japan to cook up a storm, posting sticky notes on all of his furniture so that he would not forgo anymore food and probably stare him down until he would allow her to feed him some of her heavily nutritious rice soup. It scared Harry into behaving and eating at regular times.

It was also a known fact among their group of Hogwarts alumni now that Harry was a light eater at night. His dinner had to be gentle on his stomach. Most of the time, Harry settled on eating a bowl of light soup, fruit salad and some yoghurt, which contrasted with the way he had been eating during his school years. At least he no longer suffered of heart burns.

Heaving a huge sigh, Harry managed to unstick his butt from his beloved couch, rolling onto the floor and stared at his ceiling, the faux-furred carpet cushioning his aching back. Time to get stuff done, in all of their adult glory. Dinner, cleaning up, taking a shower and crashing into his bed. He still had to massage in the new hair oils Hermione had advised him to try. Less oily, and with different fragrance from the coconut oil he had been using before. That kind of sucked. It took so long to cover the entirety of his roots and working the oils to the tips. He'd better start moving soon or he'd be stuck doing his dishes the next day, and it was a bad idea for him to clean the cutlery in the morning when he had to wake up so early.

* * *

The following weeks passed by quietly. He had heard about some commotion about the Heroes, something about endangered students - which hit too close to home for comfort - and/or a breakout of Villains and Quirk cancelling skills. He had been tempted, and almost investigated, but in Japan, he was only a civilian. He did not even have proper Quirk papers; it was a mystery since he would have to get them updated before going to Japan, but the Potter name still had some kind of subtle influence even in Eastern Asia. He had expected his family's fame only getting all the way to India, because of the origins of this branch of the family. Moreover, he had only learnt of it when he had asked his Magical liaison agent about why were there way more Heroes patrolling the streets.

Nakamura was doing fine, although he was advised to leave more of his workload to Harry, if he wanted to avoid getting overworked. Of course, he was a stubborn old man, and Harry had to herd him back to his home upstairs when it became clear that the old man was ready to take a good nap, and eat some fruits when he would wake up.

Harry also found his new spot for him to enjoy his free time, which was honestly not that much. It was a pleasant library-coffeehouse, with several respectable-sized bookshelves, and the quite the cozy sofas that graced his butt with their comfort. The staff was polite and friendly. He had become familiar with several of them, finding out that he did actually appreciate human contact. It had been a long time since he had been able to go safely outside without being recognised or having half a dozen of Aurors on his tail to protect him. He had defeated the greatest evil overlord in the last century; he did not require the excessive protection he had been assigned to. It would have been more productive to simply let him do his things while the active Aurors they still had left would round up the remaining Death Eaters that had escaped during the panic after the war to face proper trials.

Hermione and Ron were back from their quest to retrieve the former's parents, which in the end failed. His friends had been able to convince them that they were indeed from the Wizarding world, and eventually gained back their trust and were allowed to call their specialised team. The Grangers were able to retrieve their memories without any huge complications, except the one time when Dr Granger was led too quickly within a memory. Hermione had teared up. It was the memory of her eleventh birthday. Her mother had been nauseous and had to step away for a moment to take a breather, but they had a stock of chamomile tea on hand, which was mentioned by Hermione to be Dr Granger's go-to remedy to any bouts of upset stomach.

The team and the elder Grangers had to go through about seventeen years of shared memory with their daughter through several days to monitor closely their progress and stabilize their mental stability. Hermione and Ron had set camp in the neighbourhood to overview the procedures. As soon as their team were finished with the last medical overview to determine whether the procedures had left too much of residues, or had invoked any kind of complications, they popped the big question: Would Hermione's parents come back to England?

Finally, Mr and Dr Granger decided against it. They had settled well in Australia, and Hermione was already legal both in the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, and her plans for the future had been put on hold for a long time. It pained Hermione, but she could understand her parents. They parted soon after, Hermione having to go back to start up on whichever projects she had left back home, and Ron had to catch up on the Auror program he had put to a halt to help Hermione. It was by a few months, but he could take the accelerated course to compensate the time he had missed training. Moreover, Hermione had been planning to go to a law school, and having Hogwarts as a backing source could assure her a spot in any schools she would have chosen. Muggleborns who wished to go back to the Muggle world for studies were often provided with documents necessary for them to attend whichever classes they required. They only needed to catch up on approximately seven years of their schooling, which was the reason most of the Muggleborns were unwilling to go back to the Muggle job market. Unfortunately, it was a tactic Magicals had been using for centuries to trap in new magical blood within their conservative and static hidden society. Plus the blood status quo

Harry sighed. He was back at the coffeehouse, during his lunch break, planning for a scheduled ConVorb conversation with his friends back home, pushing around his schedule for his duties in the shop and his planning for his chores in his apartment. For once, he had forgone to make his own lunch, instead choosing to take a quick meal-and-coffee combo, although he had prepared something easy on the stomach for Nakamura. The old man could probably cook something up for himself, but Harry was happy to do it. For the moment, Nakamura had no complaints. Harry counted it as a win, coming from the picky and prickly old man.

Harry curled up even further inside the booth he occupied, left hand wrapped firmly around his hot cup of peppermint mocha, trying to take up as little space as he could. He had about forty five minutes before he had to go back to The Green Stalk. His salad and chicken bread combo had already been devoured; Harry had been famished and his belly was rumbling too loud to ignore. The fluffy cheesecake he had ordered jiggled and bounced as he sliced into it with his spoon. He contemplated whether to get something for Nakamura as he nibbled on the delicious cake. He would probably get the blueberry muffins. He nodded to himself. Nothing better than a sweet dessert to complete a meal. Moreover, Harry knew that Nakamura had a weakness against blueberries.

He took his sweet time finishing his dessert and appreciating his drink. He would deal with the stress of managing a store by himself later. And perhaps put up a job offer. He only needed somebody to man the shop while he was out and about during the evening, so perhaps he could open up a spot for students who would be interested. He would discuss it with Nakamura when he would go back. For now, he better focus on ordering a cup of their sweetest caramel macchiato.

* * *

Nakamura was indeed pleased with the muffins, chomping down one before requesting Harry to put them aside so that he could eat the rest of them later. Harry was out of his mentor's hair as soon as he did what he was asked, leaving Nakamura to his own things, and returning downstairs to open up the store for the afternoon shift. Nakamura's appointed doctor was due to come for a home visit later during the evening, and the old man had offered for them to share dinner before Harry would go back to his apartment, to which Harry agreed.

Harry occupied himself for the rest of the evening, catering to his sparse clients. The most noticeable of his customers was the to be married couple who wanted to coordinate hot pink, red and gold roses with green gardenias for their wedding ceremony. It was hideous, but they insisted, and Harry did his best to soften the blow of the hard colours with the soft green of the gardenias. Rosy had apparently never been more displeased, Nakamura informed him. She was not used to have her flowers painted on, and growing actual golden roses were still not a process available, unless Harry somehow became Hades, and instead of creating iron roses, would make gold ones. Harry almost let it slip that it would surely clash with the groom-to-be's orange wings and red hair, but bit back his comments. Still, they were a lovely couple who was out of his shop merely after one hour of negotiations and arguments and a headache, leaving him to arrange the flowers and hide the hideous behind sheer white veils and shiny ceramic pearls for their marriage not even a week away.

The rest of his day passed slowly and he occupied himself with a book as he counted down the minutes for his day to end. His read was a bit boring, since he had opted to read about flower care so that he could take up more duties from the tired and cranky old man who had burrowed his way to his heart like a clingy leech.

He dragged his tired body away from his workstation at five o'clock sharp, when the doctor he had called showed up at the back door. He had thankfully had the sense to close up the shop before the doctor would show up, considering his promise to stay at Nakamura's side. He invited her in politely, leading her upstairs through the greenery screen, and steered her towards the bedroom where he knew Nakamura was waiting for them. His plant friends would surely have informed him of the doctor as soon as she walked past the marigolds, potted as "pet" plants in the back room. Harry would most definitely have been whacked in the back of the head by Nakamura, and most of the plants there had they heard what he had been thinking.

They arrived at the apartment, and Harry let themselves in using his own key - given to him as a sign of trust between the grumpy old man and him. Harry went in first, peering into the living room and immediately spotting Nakamura sitting in his usual sofa. The doctor followed him, entering the room with a warm smile to the man. She had been screened by Harry, along a list of other doctors, and he had finally settled for her after hours of deliberation and attempts at convincing Nakamura. Even if he was out of England, he was still almost as paranoid as he had been back in the homeland. PTSD tended to do that to you, and he was generally an anxious person.

Harry went to the kitchen so that the doctor and Nakamura had more privacy. He was not kin - not officially anyway, and if that did not hurt - and he additionally still had to respect patient-doctor confidentiality, and Nakamura had shown no indication that he wanted Harry to remain with him for the entirety of his checkup.

He sat down at the dining table, pulling out his phone and tapping away at the screen, trying incredibly hard not to allow his brain to process the conversation that leaked through the walls to his ears. He had no idea how long the checkup could take, so he made himself comfortable. Anyway, he had spent so much time at Nakamura's it was a second home to him nowadays. His apartment did not even make it - it was more of a place for him to spend some of his time away from work.

He had not seen Yagi in a while, he hummed as he let his mind drift, his fingers still instinctively tapping his screen during the game of reflexes. The blond man had made himself scarce, and it worried Harry. He was conscious of the fact that Yagi worked with students more, as he was told during his latest visit. Perhaps he had been involved in the recent criminal activities? If so, Harry would have to contact him. They had each other's phone number, but they rarely reached out to the other, since Yagi had been around often enough not to warrant a call.

Somebody cleared their throat from behind him, startling him into almost throwing his phone out of his grasp. He whirled around, deflating instantly when he noticed Doctor Sakamoto at the doorway. She nodded politely, and gestured in the vague direction of where Nakamura was currently. She was ready to take her leave, her bag already on her shoulder. Harry would have offered to accompany her to the door, but she made such a grim face; he needed to talk to Nakamura as soon as possible. He offered a hasty thank you and goodbye, before retreating to the living room.

Nakamura was facing away from him, leaning heavily on the armchair of the sofa. He looked so tired, as if his age had caught up with him too quickly. Harry was hesitant to talk to him. He coughed in his fist to announce his presence, his heart clenching in pain when Nakamura slowly turned to him, eyebrows drawn in worry. He had the options to sit either opposite of the old man, in the love seat, or next to him on the sofa. He decided on the latter.

He waited in silence for a few seconds, worry eating at him steadily. Given the sorrowful glance the good doctor had sent him before she had departed, Harry was bracing himself for the worse turn. He would survive it anyway, he had dealt with enough funerals back in England that he knew what to prepare for. Still, he had gotten so attached to the old man, he felt as if a hand had grasped his heart and was trying to squeeze it through his throat.

"Harry," the utterance of his name had him so surprised he almost fell over his own ass, even when seated. He rumbled a quiet _yes,_ apprehension creeping through him. "I am very old, you do realise that, don't you son?"

Harry just choked the tiniest bit, tears forming in his eyes, but he resolutely refused to let them fall and nodded anyways. He had gone through a bloody war and got out of it as a victor, goddammit! He had lost family and close friends. He could be strong for this again.

"I..." Nakamura trailed off, his face a mask of pinched pain, regret and sorrow burrowed in each wrinkle, each laugh line. "I do not have the clearest medical history. A few years back, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I was told that there was a large possibility that it would resurface again, even after chemotherapy, if I even survived it."

Harry's breath stuttered. No. That could not be happening. Nakamura was a strong man, he could defy death another time yet. Quirks had to have a way to reverse this. There was probably even a Quirk that could rewind Nakamura's body by a decade or two. Medical Quirks were a thing, Harry knew that. He would bring Nakamura to a healer if he had to. Medicine had advanced so much since Harry had been a child. Even back then, cancers were something that was curable.

"Harry, I did not want to tell you this so soon. But I was tested again, and the good doctor Sakamoto has taken a sample of blood for analysis, because she believes that I have developed a tumour. I won't lie or sugarcoat anything," Nakamura said, his voice as shaky as Harry felt he was. "If we find out that there was a new tumour, I do not wish to undergo surgery or therapy. This time, I want to go. My husband has been waiting for me long enough now. I'll contact my other children, so that you can finally meet. I'm sure they'll be glad to spend some time with you. My grandchildren will be most delighted to meet a younger face, especially if they are stuck with their old grumpy grandpa."

Everything was a blurred haze afterwards. Harry was numb.

He ate whatever they had had for dinner. He was supposed to have spent a pleasant evening with a man he cared for incredibly. He should have been laughing at the sharing of the thought of his customers, coming in to retrieve their wedding arrangements, only to be met with the most ridiculous bouquets and paying overdue to have simpler ones. He should have bit into a cupcake and made a mess of himself because the ones he had bought were huge and filled with jam. Nakamura was supposed to scold him for being so messy, but still pass him some sheets of tissue and help him out, the corners of his mouth stretched into a small smile of contentment. His little potted friend - a small fern plant, looking sad and a little worse for wear - in the middle of the dining table should have moved to drop the bottle of soy sauce closer to Nakamura with no trouble at all, instead of slowly crawling along the wood to push the condiment into Nakamura's outstretched hand.

Nakamura was not supposed to be speaking so softly and gently. Harry should have been the one to comfort him, to assure him that he would be healthy, that there was no concern about cancer. Nakamura was a stern and gruff man, not one to coddle him.

He should have argued about getting him to the hospital, where they would take care of him better. That Nakamura had to get something, anything to be sure to outlive Harry. He should have insisted that he would have loved to give him more grandchildren to dote on. He should have told Nakamura. He should. He still had time, nothing was lost yet.

Harry meant to talk about employees, but the thought had escaped him until he was back at home, sitting on his bed with his work clothes still on while staring with watering eyes at his wall. He tried his best not to acknowledge the tears as they fell down his cheeks and to his mouth. They tasted as bitter as he thought defeat would taste like.

* * *

 **AN: I'd like to mention that this was absolutely emotionally exhausting. I had not expected it to swerve this way. I didn't think I was that far gone down angst-town.**


	5. Chapter 5 - Illness comes slow and quick

**AN: Imma make everyone brawl their eyes out with this chapter.**

 **So this is a shoutout to CallmeCrazylol. I swear it's not a mean one. So, yep. Nakamura's husband was a transman, I just didn't know how to write it in. They now have 2 adopted kids and one biological. Hahah... Oops?**

* * *

Chapter Five - Illness comes slow and quick

Harry let out a huge sigh out through his nose. He had barely finished a call to back home at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley wanted him to come back, at least for a little bit. He kind of wanted to visit, but he was so busy, and he was getting more worried about Nakamura than ever. Hermione had to announce something and it made Harry wonder if it was a kid to add to the small delightful but whiny gaggle they were slowly amassing, or a marriage. He was willing to bet on both. A shotgun wedding seems like it would fit the usual thought process of their trio, if Harry had to be very honest with himself.

Nakamura had had expressed his wish to see his family just the month before, and Harry shouldered the task of calling them. It had been quite an awkward affair, presenting himself to the family of the mentor and friend who had helped him so much since he had been so set on settling in Japan. He had no idea what he could say. _"Hey I'm the guy who now takes care of the family shop so sorry about your legacy but also I'm a little jealous of your familial ties with Nakamura-san since he's now one of my few parental figures"_ seemed to be too personal and possessive. So he settled on something plain and straight to the point. In the end, he did get the answers he had been waiting for.

Nakamura would have insisted to be the one to call them all, but he had started taking heavy pain medications because he had been in constant pain for the last few days, and it wore down on him greatly. Harry had to try everything in his arsenal of begging to get Nakamura to actually consider them. He could not bear watching the old man struggle so much with everyday tasks that used to take him mere moments.

Nakamura had been diagnosed with not prostate cancer, like they had thought, but bladder cancer and it was developing at an alarming pace. Harry had paid cold hard cash to get the tests along faster, and he could not have been more worried. Harry had almost pleaded with him to go see a healer, because magic could help him, although it would have been an invasive procedure and he would be bedridden for weeks, but he would be able to live as long as he kept to a strict regime and heavy medications. Almost.

The first week, he was alright, just as tired as usual. The second week was worse. His health started deteriorating. The stress they were both put under did not help at all. The third week, he was slowing down even more. The fourth was one huge disaster. Nakamura collapsed while tending to his plants

Harry had heard him the first time. Nakamura was tired, more so than anybody else Harry had met. He had lessened his amount of time he spent time speaking with his leafy friends. He ate less. He slept less. He was losing weight at an alarming rate. Harry was out of his mind with worry. He had essentially moved in with the other man to keep an eye in case he needed anything. Nakamura did know about having his health carefully monitored, but he did not know that Harry had set up a magical alarm that would be triggered as soon as his vitals would drop. It was an amazingly complex ritual to perform to pull off but Harry had the patience and resources to make it til the end. The runic circle he had specially ordered from an artisan located in one of the smaller magical alleys held all the magic in place, and he had asked the alchemist to please use a locket or something similar so that it could be worn.

For the most part, everything was in order. Harry had rounded up the last of Nakamura's relatives and the old friends that the old man wanted to see the most. They would be arriving in the evening, first with his three children and their own kids. Harry had in no way any wish to witness the meeting, but Nakamura had asked him to stay and he could not deny anything to the old man.

For now, he had already closed down the shop - after herding the kid who had just started working there back home; he was such a nice and helpful boy, Midoriya Izuku, and so sweet and a bit shy, but his confidence had grown exponentially since he started to work at the counter instead of at the back of the store - and dinner was all done and waiting to be served. He only hoped that Nakamura would be willing to eat enough for today. It could spare him from worrying more, if only for a few precious moments and enjoy some time with Nakamura. He climbed up the stairs, going first to the kitchen to retrieve the meal he had set out to warm gently in the oven and a bottle of sweetened tea from the kitchen counter, then directly to the old man's room. Politely waiting after knocking, he was given access soon enough and let himself in. The state in which he found Nakamura broke his heart a little bit more.

Nakamura was awake, propped up on his bed with a literal mountain of soft pillows - Harry had made sure to check that they would be comfortable and accommodating. He was pale and sickly, so unlike the lively and short-tempered man Harry had met only about a year ago. The constant fatigue had morphed into aches and drowsiness, and wore him down even more.

"Good evening, Nakamura-san," Harry tried. Nakamura was on a prescription of strong painkillers to help him through, and they could make him rather loopy. Last time, he had told Harry all about his love ventures with his late husband. Harry had patiently listened to him, internally cringing a bit at the more saucy parts, but those were thankfully rare and brief. Nakamura's husband seemed to have been an old sweetheart, with a temperament wholly different from Nakamura. They had decided to each keep their own names while legally married, while their kids took on their pop's surname. Harry would have liked to meet mister Aoyama, the "old coot with half a head and twice as much room in his heart than anybody else".

"You think you'd like to eat some more today? I know you must be hungry; you didn't eat all that much of your lunch," Harry asked him. He had been the one to retrieve Nakamura's plate when the old man fell asleep after a few bites of his simple sandwiches, regretfully scraping the rest of the meager dish into the bin and wrapping the rest for later. Unfortunately, Harry hadn't had enough time to prepare a more consistent meal during the day, and he hoped to make it up during dinner.

"It's rice porridge and century eggs for dinner today," he announced with a grand flourish, earning himself a smile full of mirth from the bedridden man. "With pickled sweet ginger on the side and a dish of carrot and celery strips, all freshly cut."

Nakamura seemed to light up at the mention of the eggs. He did love them, no matter at which meal they would be served with. Harry liked them as well - he could not not like them after eating them so often with Nakamura. At first, they had a weird and foreign taste, but he learnt how to eat them easily enough. He preferred them with no sides and slightly runny. He also discovered that it was a mistake to try to drink any kind of fizzy drinks after eating them.

He deposited gently the tray of food onto the lap of the old man and squirreled away as Nakamura ate. He still had chores to do, and his own dinner to eat. He was so harried and overworked recently he had forgone to eat sometimes, truly out of forgetfulness. Luna made kept true to her promises and flew over to Japan, all the way from Rio to give him a dressing down and oh boy she was angry. She did not yell at him, she'd never. Instead, she had that disappointed stare and a serious talking to for him that would forever be engraved in his mind. She went back to her expedition after a few hours of mom talk with him and a good freshly prepared dinner with Harry and Nakamura. Those two hit up and ended up extremely friendly. Luna also transmitted her disapproving stare (but since Nakamura himself was a father, it might just have been deactivated for a while) and now Harry missed no meal if he wanted to keep his mind safe.

He chewed as quickly as he could on his dinner, the same as Nakamura's. He had to sweep the floor of the living room and the kitchen, do the dishes and take care of the flowers. The firsts could be done easily and rapidly. The flowers were a bit more of a delicate business. Some of them could wilt at anytime now, since Nakamura was not using his Quirk to help them along the way to proper maturity, and Harry still was having trouble regulating all the factors for their development. Magic could only help for so long until nature decided to kill every each of those plants Nakamura and Harry had taken months to grow and took care of properly. All of it before the guests would start coming in to check on the old man.

Harry let out a sigh. He had a lot of work left for today.

* * *

The first knock sounded at around eight o'clock. Harry had just barely finished cleaning up the flower shop, and hurried to take off his apron and threw it on its hanger to get the backdoor. He opened it wide and let the people come in. There were three adults, two of them with bright blonde hair - which made Harry think of Yagi out of the blue - and about half a dozen of kids. They were actually quite the colourful entourage.

He welcomed them in - although he guessed it was kind of more their home than his - and guided them, quite unhelpfully if he could say so himself, to the living room upstairs. It was as spotless as he could have gotten it, although there was some piles of paperwork scattered all over the place since he had not find yet the time to sort through them.

They sat down in the various seats available, some of the kids even going to sit on the carpeted floor. Harry felt strangely out of place while he busied himself with making some tea for all of them. They seemed to be sorting out the order of who would go in first. They settled for one just as Harry came back with a tray on which rested a piping hot teapot, and a bottle of iced tea, and several cups for tea to be served. He settled it on the coffee table and started to pour out the tea to the guests. As soon as everyone get their fill, they seemed to move along with a coordination that spoke of years spent together.

The adults presented themselves, seemingly in order of age. The youngest was the tallest one, and the most sunny blonde of them all. Also he had the least amount of kid, only having one. His wife accompanied him, a French woman who was lovely and incredibly kind, and who seemed to also love being the center of attention. Their son was adorable and quite... shiny. Not in a bad way, but the boy clearly knew how to draw attention to himself. He reminded Harry a little bit of Tonks as he found out when the teen introduced himself in all the flamboyance he could muster. He offered a soft smile to the young Yuga.

Then the introduction was a bit of a blur for Harry. He was barely able to greet all of them properly, before he found himself in Nakamura's bedroom, sitting uncomfortably in the corner of the room on the sofa while the old man's family poured in one by one.

He sat for more than two hours in awkward silence, tittering between flipping out his phone to pass the time and hurriedly stuffing it back into his pocket when he felt the stare of one of the guests, until Yuga came and took a seat in the bean bag next to him, looking tired and a bit resigned. It was not a good face for someone as young as Yuga was. It immediately made Harry think of his friends and himself, before he had settled in Japan, after everything that had happened and they were teens who had barely survived one hell of a bloodbath.

"Grandpapa is quite content, you know?" The sudden question startled Harry, making him jerk his head to stare straight at the teen. His thoughts had started to turn sour before Yuga had started to talk to him. He was thankful, but also curious and he still possessed the ever famous Gryffindor courage and bluntness.

He hesitated, a question on the tip of his tongue. Finally, his impulse seemed to be too strong in the face of his reason, and he asked anyways. "And what makes you think of that, Yuga-kun?"

The teen chuckled, no true malice behind it. "You seen, grandpapa has been very... Let's say that he was very sad when grandpère passed away. But now, he's been taken care of and his flowers are as resplendent as me. It's been years since the rose bush had been this heavy laden with those delightfully scented roses. According to uncle Hinata, the last time Rosy was this full was when grandpère was pregnant with my papa. And, Harry-san, look at him now. He's happy. Even if grandpapa is sick, he's happy. I know it's heartwrenching to face the truth, but here it is. I'm sorry."

Harry blinked in surprise. Oh, what a wise and eloquent young man. "Thank you, Yuga-kun. I did not want you to see my sadness, but I guess I didn't quite hide it well. I'm quite sorry about this," he said with a small chuckle. The teen's eyebrows furrowed at his words, but he chose not to say anything.

"If you are concerned, I'll do everything in my power to help your grandpapa through this illness. Be sure of that Yuga-kun. I love your grandfather very much and I would like nothing more than see him get better," he told Yuga truthfully.

Truthfully, the illness looming above Nakamura's head was suffocating. Harry wondered every day how he could possibly bear its presence. It gnawed and crunched at Nakamura's life force, one small section at a time. Harry wished with all his might that he could be able to take a hold of this vicious illness and crush it with his bare hands. But he could not. He would not. Nakamura had asked him not to. However, soon enough nothing would be left and Harry would have to deal with the aftermath of the toll of death, yet again. Harry did not know how he would deal. He had not even barely started processing his grief from the lives lost in the Great Hogwarts War. This time around though, Nakamura's family would be in a state of mourn and grief, with him besides them.

It would just be another battle lost...

No no no, that would not do. Harry had to shake these thoughts out of his head. His therapist had talked about it. If he was about to be swallowed by his thoughts, he had to find something to cope. He guessed it was time to whip up some snacks for the guests. Of course, he had planned a platter full of pastries, but the kids happened. And hungry adults. Plus he already had some cookies from that afternoon and even if the guests would not stay for long after, he would still feel much better if all of them had a small bag of goodies before they left. At most, it would take him fifteen minutes to get the cookies cooked properly. And none of them knew of his Quirk - or rather lack of - and he could speed up their cooking time to about five minutes.

He motioned at Yuga to let him know that he would not take too long, and went to Nakamura to tell him that he was about to go to the kitchen. The old man acknowledged him, then sank deeper into his pillows. He had just finished talking to his eldest daughter and his son-in-law so Harry figured he had to be pretty knackered. He would probably love to sleep right now. Harry recognised the signs of tiredness. The tight knitting of his forehead and the sleepy grumbles were the give away.

Harry turned back to his young conversation partner, inviting him to help him around in the kitchen. The teen agreed with raised eyebrows and a small smile tugging on his lips. Silently, they moved to leave the room. Yuga was already in the corridor as Harry slowed down to dim the lights of Nakamura's room. He got a last peek at Nakamura's slowly relaxing face as he closed the door.

"Good night..."

* * *

 **AN : I gotta admit, this one is a bit shorter. But I couldn't really get myself back in the groove, so forgive me.**


End file.
